Poll

In Our Opinion

The year I graduated high school just happened to coincide with the emergence of a particular brood of cicadas. I had longed for a party in my parents' side yard under a towering ash tree to celebrate my entrance into adulthood. Sadly, the foul odor of dead cicadas canvassing our yard crushed my dreams. All summer long, buzzards swooped down into our yard to feast on the cicadas, and not too long after that, the once-beautiful ash tree became victim to the ash borer beetle.

The day I graduated from high school, my grandfather was sick. There was debate as to whether or not my grandparents would be able to attend this momentous occasion in a young person’s life.
But I knew “BeBoss,” as his grandchildren affectionately called him, and I knew he would be there.
“I knowed ol’ P.Q. when she didn’t have a louse on her,” he would say of his youngest grandchild.

There’s a scar on my shin that tells a story about me that most people don’t know.
It’s the story of how one little girl had only one wish for her adult life -- and that was to be just like her hero.
The scar came about after a trip to my mama’s closet, where I took out a pair of her old high heels. I slipped them on my tiny feet and walked carefully through the house, trying my hardest to be as graceful as mama when she walked through the church doors on Sunday mornings.

Publisher and journalist Henry Luce once said, “I became a journalist to come as close as possible to the heart of the world.”
I’ve found the same to be true about myself, except my world is contained to a rural county in northern Kentucky with a little over 10,000 residents.
The past three months have been a learning experience for me. There have been a few tears here and there, but luckily I’ve had our readers by my side to help guide and encourage me.

A couple of years ago the now-editor of the Frankfort State-Journal, Phil Case, wrote a column about his accidental entry in the Owen County Christmas Parade.
Mr. Case wrote of traveling home to Franklin County from northern Kentucky via Highway 127. Apparently, in an attempt to circumvent the parade, he accidentally fell in behind Santa Claus riding on one of the Owenton fire trucks.

I took a picture Saturday that you will never see.
It was a great picture, maybe one of the best I’ve taken in a long time.
It was from the Battle of the Bluegrass softball tournament and featured a young girl and her coach.
In the middle of an at-bat, the coach wrapped her arms around the girl and helped her with her batting stance. With great patience, she showed the girl how to hold her arms in the correct position and reminded her to keep her shoulders up.

By the time you read this, the federal government will be shut down.
I’m writing this four days before the deadline to reach a deal is set to expire.
How can I go ahead and spend the time to write something when the outcome isn’t assured?
I have confidence that no deal, no compromise, no settlement, no agreement, no bargain, no treaty will be made before the deadline because I have no faith in most of the Washington lawmakers to do anything that can’t be spun into a total positive for themselves.

Having a mother for most of my life, I think that I’ve garnered some insight into the dynamic between mother and son.
After my dad passed away, my mom took on two roles but she was best at simply being my mom.
Being the “baby” of the family with only an older sister to compare to, I think I had a pretty great relationship with my mom. Being the only boy also allowed me a fair amount of latitude because I could always play the “boys will be boys” card.